


what you wanted (not this)

by Blueberries (Blueberries_Pen)



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [12]
Category: DCU
Genre: Broken Bones, Dacryphilia, Identity Porn, Incest, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Noncontober 2020, Whumptober 2020, broken down, broken trust, coercion/blackmail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:51:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberries_Pen/pseuds/Blueberries
Summary: Grant goes solo. Slade, luckily, picks him before he manages to get into any real trouble.
Relationships: Grant Wilson/Slade Wilson
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947430
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	what you wanted (not this)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 12:   
> Kinktober: dacryphilia  
> Noncontober: Coercion/blackmail  
> Whumptober: Broken down/broken bones/broken trust

Deathstroke is  _ amazing.  _ The sheer power in his strikes, his ease with which he moves, the way, he always,  _ always _ , won. Deathstroke is, as everyone who’s anyone knows, the  _ best.  _ He  _ never  _ fails a contract. He is, to put it simply, the  _ coolest. _

Grant wants to be just like him. Wants to have his skill, wants be as strong as him, wants to be powerful and confident enough to take on  _ anyone  _ and come out on top. Wants to be strong enough to go back home and make Slade feel every bit of pain he’s ever inflicted on him. 

And Grant - he got  _ lucky.  _ He got  _ noticed.  _ Deathstroke saw him - said he saw he had potential, and had offered to train him. 

If he were to refuse, Grant would be a fucking idiot. He jumped on the offer, and loved everything about it. Deathstroke is a great teacher, praising him when he got things right and patiently explaining where he went wrong. He pushes Grant to his limits, and but never too far, and everyday Grant wakes up eager and bright eyed add ready to learn. He loves it - Deathstroke is, without a doubt, the best damn mentor he could ever hope to have.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Deathstroke says, a hand squeezing his shoulder, and Grant beams, heart swelling and wishing with all his heart that his mentor were his father instead of Slade fucking Wilson. But it's okay though, this just means he gets to get fucked by his mentor on a daily basis instead, and it's _awesome._

Leaving is the best damn decision he ever made. 

Deathstroke just has one rule though, that frustrates the  _ hell _ of Grant. No showing his face, even when he’s railing Grant hard enough into the mattress he can’t do anything but moan, no matter how much Grant just wants to  _ touch  _ him, wants to kiss him and be kissed - even if that does sound kind of wimpy. 

He wants to  _ see. _

He knows why he’s not allowed at first - he’s not trusted fully yet, and Deathstroke can’t afford someone  _ weak  _ knowing his identity anyway.

But Grant,  _ Ravager,  _ is stronger now. He can take a lot more, and is way better than when he started out - Deathstroke said so himself. So it’s fine, isn’t it, if he knows?

And that’s why he sneaks into the bedroom, waiting for Deathstroke to come out of the shower, naked himself and artfully posing on the bed with his legs spread - hoping his mentor won’t be too mad if he can fuck Grant senseless instead. He keeps his eyes trained on the doorway, anticipating eagerly, and then - it _opens_ \- a shock of _white_ hair - a cold _blue_ eye -

Grant feels his body go cold, uncomprehending.

He knows this  _ face _ .

He knows this  _ body. _

It’s can’t - they can’t - Deathstroke  _ can’t  _ be -

Slade sighs, giving him that same disappointed look that Grant has been on the end of so many damn times as a child. He flinches, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball and pushing up the instinctive anxiety that rises with it. “You just had to push, didn’t you, boy?” he asks, in Deathstroke’s voice but coming out of  _ Slade’s  _ mouth. 

Grant is rendered mute, the silence following Slade’s words ringing far too loudly in his ears. His father is his mentor. The man he ran from is the man he ran  _ to.  _ His idol, the one he looks up to, is the one whom he disdains with all his heart. The person whom he  _ loves  _ is the same as the one he  _ hates.  _ The one he would take a damn bullet for is the one he wants to shoot a bullet into, shoot _several_ bullets into, and bury six feet under.

They are one in the same. 

There is no ‘they’. 

Just one.

Just Slade.

Grant was so, so, so damn fucking stupid. He should have _known_ someone with Deathstroke's reputation wouldn't just take interest in a random nobody just starting out without reason. He just always figured it was because his mentor wanted to fuck him too, but this...

“Then again, you always were too eager to act out, son,” Slade adds, quirking his lips up. “Like you were so eager to get punished.”

He just stares, and the realization hits him. This is his father. This is the man that fucked him, again and again. Fucking _hell_ , what had Slade been thinking? He always knew Slade was sick… but to go this far... Bile rises in his throat, mind racing as it goes over every single one of his and Deathstroke’s interactions. 

Deathstroke never saw any potential in him, did he? No, Slade just saw an opportunity to get his wayward son under control again, by any means necessary. 

“You’re  _ disgusting,”  _ he says harshly, rising up and storming out, heart aching with pain and fury. Or at least, that’s the plan. Slade snags his arm, tagging him back with a sharp yank. 

“And where do you think you’re going, boy?” Slade asks coldly, looking down at him. “You broke a rule. You think I’d let you off without  _ punishment?” _

Grant snarls, trying to twist out of the grip but Slade just yanks till it’s on the edge of painful. “Fuck off, Slade! I don’t owe you  _ shit.  _ Let me go, you sick freak!” 

Slade laughs at him, only twisting it more, and Grant has to tilt precariously at an awkward angle to relieve the pressure. “And where would you go, hm? You think you could run to anywhere? You think anyone would take in someone like you?”

“I’m  _ Ravager!”  _ Grant snaps back, glaring. “I don’t need you to take jobs!”

“Oh kid,” Slade says, laughing. “You think anyone would hire you after seeing this?” and Slade reaches out blindly with a hand, pulling out a drawer, and suddenly, pictures are flying everywhere and Grant -

Grant is in all of them. 

He stares with wide eyes, at pictures of him naked and covered in come, his ass spread open on Slade’s cock, tied up and head thrown back in ecstasy while coming, his mouth choking and spread open around a cock, and much, _much_ more. 

“You wouldn’t get far as a mercenary anyway, but you think anyone would hire a whore like you after seeing  _ this,  _ boy?” Slade asks mockingly. “All I’d have to do is share these, and the only thing people would want to hire you for is to suck  _ dick,  _ and they’d be right.”

“...you wouldn’t,” Grant says in a small voice, stilling. Slade wouldn’t, would he? 

“If you walk out that door, Grant, I will,” Slade replies coldly.

Grant’s hand clenches. “Why?!” he demands. “Why lie to me? Why train me? Why do any of this?!”

Slade drops his hand, and Grant almost falls, but before he can, Slade hits him hard enough to knock him against the bed, leaving him gasping in pain as it hits his back. He slides to the ground, hand clutching around his abdomen as he wheezes. Deathstroke had never hit him that hard before. 

“Because you’re  _ weak,  _ boy,” Slade says softly, his foot landing over his right arm. “The way you were going, you were going to get yourself  _ killed.  _ I didn’t put all that effort into raising you for you to die in a ditch in the middle of nowhere.”

Grants laughs, disbelievingly.  _ Raised,  _ Slade says, like he was there. “And so you  _ fucked  _ me?”

Slade presses down, and Grant hisses, futilely trying to wrench it away. “Don’t kid yourself, boy. You  _ wanted  _ me.”

He shakes his head helplessly. “Not you.”

“I am Deathstroke, son. You. Wanted. Me,” Slade hisses out coldly.

Grant’s eyes flash rebelliously. “Fuck you. I don’t want shit from you, I don’t need shit from you. Spread around whatever you want, I don’t care - I can deal with it.” That’s a lie, he does care, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. This is gambling - gambling that Deathstroke cares enough not to ruin him.

“No, you can’t,” Slade says with a laugh, then brings the heel of his foot down so hard Grant doesn’t even  _ see  _ it. It takes a second of the pain to hit, but as it does, Grant  _ shrieks _ . 

“You fucking psycho!” the pain radiates up his arm in painful bursts, building and building till it’s one continuous  _ hurt  _ that leaves him unable to even  _ bend  _ his fingers. His vision blurs. “You  _ broke  _ my arm,” he hisses out disbelievingly, between clenched teeth. “You - fucking - asshole.”

“And I’ll break you leg too, if you don’t shut up,” Slade says dryly.

Grant, of course, can  _ not  _ shut up. “ _ Fuck  _ you,” he hisses, then screams again as his right leg breaks too.

“Silly boy, Slade chides, amusement still in his voice. “How do you expect to ‘deal with it’ if you can’t even deal with a few broken bones, hm?” 

And fuck, Grant hates that voice, hates that he’s so familiar with it. Hates how…  _ affectionate  _ it is, like Slade hadn’t just put him out of commission for  _ months _ . A chill goes down his spine, vision blurring even more as the pain gets too much and he can no longer hold back the tears. What the hell is Slade planning to do with him? Just keep him trapped here?

A hand lands on his forehead, brushing over it gently, and  _ fuck,  _ it’s so warm. It has no right to be warm, no right to feel so  _ good,  _ no right to feel so  _ right,  _ but it does, makes him want to lean and let go.

He sobs, unable to hold it back. 

This isn’t  _ fair. _

Slade isn’t supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to be Deathstroke, he’s not supposed to be fucking his own damn son, he’s not supposed to ruin everything Grant’s worked for.

But he is.

Hands slip under his body, pulling him up, closer to Slade. Deathstroke carried him like this sometimes too, when he was too wiped out from training, and though it had been comforting then, now it’s just… chilling. 

Kisses land on his cheek as Slade lays him down on the bed, his body over Grant’s, and Grant can’t help but cry even more, intensified by the pain as Slade puts pressure on his wounds. They land over his tears, brushing them away. Slade is - his  _ father  _ is getting off on this, he realizes. Off his pain. His hurt. On having Grant broken and vulnerable and  _ crying,  _ because he’s an absolute psycho. Grant hates him. Should hate him. But Slade’s lips are so  _ gentle  _ as he drags it along the trail of tears that he doesn’t want to believe that it’s the same person. 

“You’re still just a child, Grant,” Slade says tenderly, brushing his cheek. “You have so much to learn. I'm sure, by the you can move your limbs properly again, you will, at the very least, have learned not to run from me, if nothing else. Won't that be nice?” Slade kisses him softly over his lips, something he had been so eagerly looking forward to when he had entered the room.

Grant can taste the salt on it.

This is what he wanted - but not like this.

_ Not like this. _

**Author's Note:**

> still not edited, oops.  
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
